Chapter 31 Wyatt
Wyatt
I'm covered in Vincent's blood, splattered across my chest and arms from when Hunter went at him with the kitchen knife.
It took both of us to subdue him; Hunter slashing with the blade while I tackled him to the ground, both of us fighting with the desperate fury of Alphas protecting our Omega during her heat.
My hands are shaking with leftover adrenaline, my heart still pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. Hunter looks absolutely murderous standing over Vincent's prone form in the living room, his chest heaving with barely controlled rage.
We managed to tie Vincent up with whatever we could grab—extension cords, zip ties from the junk drawer, even a belt.
He's secured to one of the heavy dining chairs we dragged into the living room, his hands bound behind his back, ankles lashed to the chair legs.
Blood is streaming from the knife wounds Hunter inflicted, nothing fatal but enough to make him think twice about moving.
Vincent is still spewing curses, screaming about his rights and how we can't do this to him and how Amelia belongs to him. Each word makes Hunter's expression darker, more dangerous, until I'm genuinely worried he's going to finish what he started.
Hunter's boot connects with Vincent's head in a vicious kick that snaps his neck back and finally shuts him up. Vincent slumps in the chair, conscious but dazed, blood trickling from his split lip to join the wounds on his arms and chest.
"Call the police, again. No, fuck, call the station," Hunter growls at me, his voice barely human. "Before I kill him."
I'm already pulling out my phone with blood-slicked fingers, dialing 911 first and then immediately calling Dylan. The police dispatcher is asking questions I can barely focus on answering—yes, there's an intruder, yes, he's been subdued, yes, send officers immediately, the address is—
Dylan answers his phone on the first ring. "What's wrong?"
"Vincent broke in," I say, my voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances. "During Amelia's heat. We got him. He's tied up, police are on the way, but you should probably get here."
"Fuck. I'll be there in five. How's my sister?"
"Silas has her. In the bathroom off the kitchen. She's safe. He got her away from the fight." I run a hand through my hair, leaving bloody streaks I'll have to wash out later. "Fuck, Dylan, that could have been so much worse."
"But it wasn't," Dylan says firmly. "You protected her. I'm on my way."
The sirens are getting closer now, the wail of approaching police cars cutting through the afternoon air.
I hear the keypad beep at the front door and then Dylan is sliding in, his eyes immediately taking in the scene.
Vincent tied to a chair bleeding, Hunter standing over him looking like he wants to inflict more damage, me covered in blood and still completely naked.
"Fuck, you got him good," Dylan says, moving closer to examine Vincent's injuries.
"Not good enough," I mutter. "Hunter was ready to kill him. I don't think I've ever seen him this angry."
"Why weren't you as angry?" Dylan asks, glancing at me. "He broke into your house during my sister’s–your Omega's heat. That's grounds for murder in any Alpha court."
"I was," I say honestly. "I am. But I couldn't let Hunter kill someone. I have no idea what that would do to Amelia, seeing one of her Alphas covered in that much blood, knowing we killed her ex even if he deserved it. She's been through enough trauma. She doesn't need that image in her head."
Hunter stalks over to us, his hands still clenched into fists. "I need that fucker in a jail cell before I kill him," he says through gritted teeth. "Get him out of my house. Get him away from my Omega."
"Get the fuck in line," Dylan says darkly. "I've wanted him dead since the first time he laid hands on my sister."
The knock on the door is sharp and authoritative. I move to answer it, painfully aware that I'm still naked and covered in blood. Two police officers stand on the porch, their expressions shifting from professional to shocked when they see me.
"Uh," one of them says, his eyes darting away from my nakedness. "We got a call about a break-in?"
Hunter appears behind me, equally naked and even more blood-covered. "He interrupted our Omega's heat," he says flatly, making no apologies for our state of undress. "So excuse the lack of clothing. The intruder is in the living room."
We lead them inside and gesture to where Vincent is slumped in the chair, conscious now and glaring at all of us with pure hatred. The officers take in the scene—the blood, the improvised restraints, Vincent's injuries. Their hands move toward their weapons instinctively.
"Did someone stab him?" one officer asks, tension in his voice.
"My sister's ex broke into her new Alphas' house during her heat," Dylan says, his voice sharp with anger. "And the first thing you ask about is his injury? My sister's fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."
The officer has the grace to look slightly chagrined. "We need to understand what happened here. There's protocol—"
"Fuck your protocol," I snap, my patience completely gone.
"You should be glad the fucker is still alive. He broke into our house, violated a restraining order he probably didn’t even fucking know about, and tried to get to our Omega during her heat.
Can you get him out of this fucking house or do we need to remove him ourselves?
Because I promise you won't like how we do it. "
The officer sighs, recognizing that pushing us further would be a mistake. He moves forward to examine Vincent's restraints. "I guess I'll return these to you later," he mutters, gesturing at the zip ties and extension cords.
"You do that," I say coldly.
We watch as the officers work to free Vincent from our makeshift restraints and transfer him to proper handcuffs.
He starts cursing again the moment he can speak clearly, screaming about how this is illegal detention, how we assaulted him, how Amelia is his and we have no right to keep her from him.
Hunter takes a threatening step forward and both officers move to block him, recognizing the danger. "Sir, we need you to stay back. We've got him. He's going to jail."
"He better," Hunter growls. "Because if he gets out, if he comes anywhere near her again, I won't stop at a few knife wounds."
They finally get Vincent on his feet and start walking him toward the door. One of the officers turns back to us. "We'll need statements from all of you. Someone will be back within the hour to take your accounts of what happened. And given the injuries, there will be an investigation—"
"Fine," Hunter says shortly. "We'll give statements. But right now, we need to check on our Omega. She just went through hell because your department couldn't keep one obsessive ex away from her despite a restraining order and supposed patrol units watching the house."
The officer's jaw tightens but he doesn't argue.
They leave with Vincent, his shouting fading as they get him into the patrol car.
Another two officers step inside with gloves and equipment I haven't seen before.
The older Alpha holds up his bag. "Just cleaning up a little so you don't have a mess to deal with later.
" He manages a smile, his eyes politely staying on our faces rather than dropping lower.
His counterpart isn't as subtle, Hunter letting out a little growl before stalking over to the couch and grabbing two blankets, one to wrap around his waist and the other for me.
We stay long enough for them to clean up the floor and the excess glass where Vincent broke in, the silence that follows heavy, both of us processing what just happened. The moment they leave, Hunter moves toward the bathroom off the kitchen with single-minded purpose.
He knocks gently on the door. "It's us. He's gone. You're safe now."
There's no response. Hunter tries the handle and finds it locked.
A snarl tears across his face as he reaches up above the archway where we keep the spare key, a long pinpoint piece of brass that no one would find unless they were looking for it.
With a quick twist, he opens the door to reveal Silas sitting in the bathtub with Amelia passed out against his chest, the water still running softly.
Silas is running his fingers through her hair, purring low and constant to soothe her even in sleep.
He looks up at us, his dark eyes taking in our blood-covered state, and his expression shifts to something protective and worried.
"I know how much you need her right now," Silas says quietly, carefully shutting off the water with one hand while keeping Amelia secure with the other.
"But I need you and Wyatt to go take a shower first. Get cleaned up.
I have no idea what she'll do if she wakes up and sees you like this.
She passed out about ten minutes ago—the adrenaline crash hit her hard.
Let me get her back to her nest, then you can join us once you're clean. "
Hunter looks like he wants to fight that directive, his need to see Amelia, to confirm she's safe with his own eyes, clearly warring with the logic of Silas's words. I grab his arm and pull him back gently.
"Let's end Amelia's heat on a good note, okay?" I say. "Silas is right. She doesn't need to see us covered in Vincent's blood. That's not the memory we want her to have."
Hunter's jaw clenches but he nods, letting me pull him back. Dylan is still standing in the living room, looking lost, his hands opening and closing like he doesn't know what to do with them.
"I'll feel better if I just hang out on the couch or something," Dylan says. "I can't... I need to..." He trails off, unable to articulate what he needs.
I manage a small smile despite everything.
"The shock has temporarily suppressed her heat symptoms—we might have a few hours of reprieve before the next wave, or it might have ended this cycle early.
Hard to say. We need to clean up a little bit, but I'm pretty sure by dinner we'll be eating all together.
I think Amelia would benefit from having everyone here. Her pack and her family."
Dylan's expression softens with relief. "Fuck, yeah, okay. I'll come back in a few hours with the kids and Maddox. I'll probably pick something up for dinner too. Just... let me know how she is when she wakes up, okay?"
"She'll be the first one you call," I promise. "Actually, she'll probably want to call you herself. You know how she is."
"Yeah," Dylan says with a slight smile. "Yeah, I do."
He leaves, and I guide Hunter up the stairs toward my bathroom. We're both moving on autopilot, exhaustion starting to set in now that the immediate threat is gone. The shower is big enough for both of us, and we stand under the spray watching Vincent's blood swirl down the drain.
Hunter's hands are shaking as he scrubs at his skin, trying to remove every trace of what happened. "I wanted to kill him," he says quietly. "I wanted to keep stabbing until there was nothing left. Until he could never threaten her again."
"I know," I say, reaching for the shampoo. "I wanted that too. But Amelia wouldn't have recovered from that. She would have blamed herself, thought it was her fault we became killers. This way is better. He's alive, he's going to jail, and she didn't have to witness us committing murder."
"He'll get out eventually," Hunter says, his voice hollow. "They always do. And when he does—"
"We'll handle it," I interrupt firmly. "But right now, today, we won. He didn't get to her. She's safe. That's what matters."
We finish cleaning up in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When we're finally clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, unable to be apart from Amelia any longer, we head toward Hunter's room where her nest is.
We pause at the doorway. Silas has gotten her settled in the nest, still wrapped in blankets, her hair damp from the tub. She's awake now, sitting up but looking small and fragile in a way that makes my chest ache.
Hunter clears his throat softly. "Can we come in?"
Her head snaps up, her eyes finding us immediately. For a moment she just stares, taking in our clean clothes, our clean skin, confirming we're really here and safe. Then her face crumples.
"Yes," she says, her voice breaking. "Yes, please. I need you. I need all of you."
We move into the nest immediately, Hunter on one side and me on the other, pulling her between us while Silas completes the circle at her back. She's trembling against us, her hands fisting in our shirts like she's afraid we'll disappear.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't—"
"Don't," Hunter interrupts firmly. "Don't you dare apologize for what he did. None of this is your fault. Not one single thing."
She nods against my chest, but I can feel the guilt radiating off her anyway. It's going to take time for her to really believe that, to accept that Vincent's actions are his own responsibility. But we have time now. We have safety. We have each other.
And Vincent will finally be where he belongs.
Behind bars.